


Pillar

by stiction



Series: Summer Heat 2020 [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/F, Semi-Public Sex, you'll pry my love of fancy party sex out of my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:49:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24918637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stiction/pseuds/stiction
Summary: Even as Chromia braced herself on the wall, determined to walk away, she found herself caught up in the way the stupid lanterns that Starscream liked cast Windblade’s face in gentle shadows. She had always looked so good in formal paint. Chromia followed the lines of gold down to Windblade’s mouth.She should go back to the party. Ironhide would never let her live it down.Windblade kissed her then, hard enough that her grunt of surprise echoed off the old metal walls, and Chromia melted into it.
Relationships: Chromia/Windblade
Series: Summer Heat 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1803259
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	Pillar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RhythmickRobot (rhythmickorbit)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhythmickorbit/gifts).



> written for the squares "public sex" and "oral" with chromia and windblade, put in by the ever-iconic vee
> 
> come check out my board and put in bingo prompts [@schemingallday](https://twitter.com/schemingallday/status/1275841531245715457?s=20) on twitter!

“Windblade,” Chromia hissed. “Come on. This is a terrible idea. We’re gonna get caught.”

“No, we’re not.” Windblade pushed her further into the alcove. The thin mesh drape hiding them from the view of the open courtyard caught the breeze and swung against her. “I know for a fact that Starscream had the security cameras in this sector disabled ages ago.”

Chromia cycled quickly from confusion to realization, and settled ultimately on disgust. “Gross.”

“Just don’t think too hard about it,” Windblade suggested. Her hand left Chromia’s wrist and groped gracelessly at Chromia’s panel. 

Warmth rushed to the touch. Even as Chromia braced herself on the wall, determined to walk away, she found herself caught up in the way the stupid lanterns that Starscream liked cast Windblade’s face in gentle shadows. She had always looked so good in formal paint, and the glow of the garden's crystals only brought out the shine. Chromia followed the lines of gold down to Windblade’s mouth. 

She should go back to the party. Ironhide would never let her live it down. “I—”

Windblade kissed her then, hard enough that her grunt of surprise echoed off the old metal walls, and Chromia melted into it. Her panel slid back only a half klik later, self-control circuitry losing the battle it’d been waging since Windblade had sat down next to her during dinner and spent the entire time sipping engex, chatting with foreign delegates, and, more pertinently, dragging her fingertips along every seam in Chromia’s legs. Chromia had managed to answer the handful of questions aimed her way without stammering or choking on her drink, but that was as much of a win as her processor had allowed her. 

She was losing now, thoroughly, the warm breeze slipping under her armor just as easily as Windblade’s fingers. 

“What do you want?” Windblade murmured. Her palm rocked over Chromia’s array. 

“What do _I_ want?” Chromia repeated. “You’re the one that’s been trying to tighten my screws all night.”

“And I’m sure that you won’t disappoint in all the plans I have for when we get back to my hab. But that would take too long here.”

“Plans,” Chromia repeated again, helpless. “You—?”

Windblade cut her off again, this time by dropping to her knees, rotors spinning idly as her finger traced the inner gasket of Chromia’s panel. 

“Better choose before the rest of security notices we’re gone,” Windblade said. “Where do you want my mouth?”

Chromia’s fuel ran hot any time of the day, but now it felt close to evap. She slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a noise as Windblade eased her thighs further apart. The curtain was so thin. They couldn’t be more than twenty mechanometers from the nearest table. Windblade had said there were no cameras, but—ugh. Even with the thought of Starscream facing and the tank-twisting prospect of getting caught, Chromia didn’t stand a chance. 

“This is payback for the throne room thing, isn’t it?” She whispered, barely lifting her hand. 

Windblade winked. 

Chromia’s spike, traitorous component that it was, pressurized. Windblade immediately set to it, no preamble past a brush of her lips to the head before she took most of its length in her mouth. 

Frag. 

Chromia reached out with her free hand, desperate already and fumbling for a hold on Windblade’s helm that wouldn’t overwhelm her sensory crown. There was the paint to think of too, all that carefully laid out gold lining Windblade’s optics. Her lips were already smeared from the kissing and were only going to get worse. 

Oh, Solus, there was probably gold mixed with the red on her own face. It was forgotten as Windblade pinned Chromia’s hips to the wall with an unforgiving forearm and worked two fingers into her valve. Oh, she really just—Chromia bit down hard on the hand over her mouth and felt the casing on her index finger give as she groaned. 

Windblade’s muffled laugh rattled through her chassis. Chromia hated her a little for it, and admired her for it even more. So bold, even after the whole throne room thing. As soon as she could get Windblade out of this stupid event she was going to toss Windblade onto her stupid big berth and make sure she wouldn’t walk straight for a decaorn. She was going to burn so much charge out of them both that they’d have to call someone to bring them energon. It’d be humiliating, and wonderful, and she was adding another overload to the quota every minute that Windblade dragged this out. She relayed this via comms and Windblade only laughed again and wiggled her fingers against the front of Chromia’s valve. 

“Oh, you—” Chromia groaned again, not quite able to hide it this time. She dialed her vocalizer back and snapped: “You’re horrible.”

Windblade leaned back, halting Chromia’s aborted thrust with her arm. “We’ve got three more kliks before Starscream gives up on stalling for me. Are you going to overload, or are you going to whine about me indulging you for once?”

“ _Indulging me?_ ”

“Easy,” Windblade said. Her thumb worked over the soft mesh of Chromia’s rim. “Be careful. As well as negotiating has gone so far, I don’t think they’ll respect Cyberton’s cityspeaker quite so much if I come back with transfluid all over my face.”

Chromia managed to hold off on that, but only by the grace of a rebooted self-control threshold. 

“We’ve managed in less than three kliks,” she said instead, and let the hand on Windblade’s helm trail down to her mouth. Windblade kissed her palm before pushing past her hand and taking her spike back into her mouth. Her fingers worked steadily at the roof of Chromia’s valve.

Overload came swiftly then, Windblade pushing her along with practiced ease. Chromia kept her hand cradled around Windblade’s jaw, staring through the muted light at the gold paint on Windblade’s lips as it rubbed off on her spike. She was going to lick every line of paint off Windblade’s face later. 

That was the thought that finally had her arching into Windblade’s hold and spilling down her throat with another barely-stifled moan. She slumped, panting, against the wall as Windblade closed her panel and made sure her thighs were clean. 

“You’re awful,” she mumbled when Windblade stood and sidled closer. Every rough crystal in the wall dug into her plating, but she couldn't bring herself to care about the potential of scratches. 

“You like it.”

“I do.” Chromia ran her thumb over the dimpled curve of Windblade’s lips again. “But you’re not gonna like what I have to say.”

“What?”

“Your makeup is slagged.”

“Oh, frag.” Windblade dug in her subspace for the spare paint kit she’d packed, but in the end it was Chromia who retraced the thin gold lines around her mouth and blew on them to make sure they set right. 

Chromia opted to just wipe the last smears of red from her own lips with a spare cloth. The rest of her paint was intact. Frag it if Ironhide or anybody else noticed. They oughta be jealous, she thought as they stepped back through the courtyard gate, Windblade’s hand cool on her arm.

“So…” she said, trying not to look relieved as nobody turned to watch them. “Plans?”

“Mhm,” Windblade hummed. She snagged two glasses of engex from a passing server droid and passed one to Chromia. “We can leave in another joor, if you’re good.”

"Oh, I think I can manage," Chromia said, and drained her glass. She would need the energy. 

**Author's Note:**

> title referencing [dinner and diatribes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Iq5gesj6kmw) by hozier, the iconic 'can't wait to go home and smash' song


End file.
